


Risk-Taker

by ErisDea



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Supernatural Elements, Temporary Character Death, Vampire!Darcy, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8409373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErisDea/pseuds/ErisDea
Summary: She doesn’t mean to reveal that she’s a vampire. The thing is, the only way she could’ve avoided exposure is if she’d let Bucky die taking a hit aimed at the little boy beside him.So yeah, you bet she chooses exposure over that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Found this in my Halloween folder. I was gonna post this last year, I can't remember why I didn't =P
> 
> I don't think I need to add more tags, but feel free to tell me if I'm wrong and suggest more accurate ones! =D
> 
> Hope you enjoy! <3

She doesn’t mean to reveal that she’s a vampire. While not an actual law, keeping their existence a secret is the sole unspoken unanimous rule that all supernatural creatures obey. It’s the one thing keeping the humans from hunting them down and exterminating them for good, after all.

The thing is, the only way she could’ve avoided exposure is if she’d let Bucky die taking a hit aimed at the little boy beside him.

So yeah, you bet she chooses exposure over that.

She slams bodily into him at her fastest speed, wrapping her arms around him and the boy in his grasp, letting momentum carry them away just as a spray of bullets hit the ground they’d been standing on.

“Stay down!” she shouldn’t have yelled, but that’s another thing she doesn’t hesitate to do before she’s speeding off, leaving them behind a thick tree a distance away before heading towards the group of gunmen who’ve now realized their target is gone. Again, she doesn’t have to do it, but she’s already processed the potential outcome of staying with them, and yeah, she wants to delay that confrontation for as long as she can. And if she can earn a little goodwill beforehand, well, that’d be good, wouldn’t it?

She body-checks one of the gunmen, slamming him headfirst into the van they’d leapt out of, and spin-kicks at another hard enough to make his head snap sideways, but not hard enough to break his neck or kill him. She catches the barrel of the third guy just in time to avoid getting shot by him, and, okay, this guy she doesn’t hesitate to use as a shield against the last two, who riddle their friend’s body with bullets in an attempt to hit her—

The next thing she knows, she’s waking up in a dark place, pain radiating from her head and her torso, her hunger the strongest she ever felt. Screams erupt when she tries to sit up, hears and feels plastic against her skin, crinkling with her every move—

“Aw, man,” she groans, realizing she was in a body bag.

“Oh my god, she’s still alive!” she hears someone say, and a few moments later, the zipper is grinding loudly against her eardrums and bright light is pouring into her eyes. The woman freeing her from the bag rears back with a high-pitched shriek that does nothing to ease the literal ache in her brain. “Her face! Her face!”

“Shut up!” she snarls, which probably wasn’t the best idea, since the woman faints and everyone else starts yelling.

By the time she crawls out of the bag, guns are once again pointing at her, in spite of her gagging and trying hard as hell not to leap onto the nearest body, which happens to be the unconscious woman. Thankfully, rescue comes in the form of her not-boyfriend pushing through the crowd and falling upon her, whispering her name again and again like he couldn’t believe his eyes.

Actually, that’s a valid response, since the last thing she remembers is a bullet flying towards her face, meaning she probably died in front of him. Now that she remembered it exists, the bullet hole in her head throbs cheerfully, as if saying hello.

“Aw, crap,” she says, gripping his arms tightly. “Ow.”

“Someone get her a medic!” Bucky demands in response, still cradling her to his chest. He doesn’t look away from her face, which she’s sure is still all veiny and fang-y—the state her kind revert to when they sustain grave physical injury. The fact that Bucky looks more worried than repulsed is a damn good sign, and she hopes to the heavens her luck will hold out.

“Oh, so we need to talk,” she tells him quietly.

He starts laughing, sounding hysterical and happy at the same time. “You bet your ass we do,” he replies, pressing a kiss to her head.

Darcy hopes to hell that he’ll still do that again—still feel the same way about her—after he hears her side of things.


End file.
